


The Sinnermen

by kaasknot



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Hate Sex, M/M, Shoutouts to Nina Simone and William Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 03:44:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13181661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaasknot/pseuds/kaasknot
Summary: "It probably wasn’t one of Lucifer’s better ideas, but he’d never claimed to be a paragon of wisdom."





	The Sinnermen

It probably wasn’t one of Lucifer’s better ideas, but he’d never claimed to be a paragon of wisdom. Cain’s mouth was hot against his neck, his hands rough as they hauled him away from the bar, and Lucifer had more important things to think about than his own impoverished decision-making skills. The hot smell of blood rose between them--heart’s blood, the very sweetest kind--and yet, the wound had closed over and all that remained was the smear on Cain’s shirt.

“I was worried I’d actually killed you, for a moment,” Lucifer said, tripping up the stairs to the mezzanine. “If you hadn’t been _you_ , your plan would have succeeded, wouldn’t it?”

He hadn’t been this hard in--well, he wasn’t keeping track. It was all relative, anyway; the time with the cockring and ball stretcher was a special, cherished memory, and Detective Decker had an entire drawer in his mental file cabinet devoted to the new heights of tortured self-restraint she drove him to. He bit down on Cain’s earlobe, savored his reflexive twitch--and the jump of his cock, pressed against Lucifer’s hip, hot through the double layer of denim and worsted wool between them.

It had been such a long time since he had tasted a fellow immortal.

Dimly he wondered where Maze was, whether she was somewhere in the club or skulking off who knew where, but thought fled as Cain slammed his shoulders into the penthouse lift.

“Do you know how long I’ve been planning this op,” Cain growled against his lips.

“Haven’t the faintest,” Lucifer gasped. He wormed his hands down the back of Cain’s jeans, grabbing two gracious handfuls and dragging him forward to properly rut against. “Do tell.” 

Cain yanked him up by the waistcoat and slammed him back against the lift wall, and Lucifer laughed at the predictability of it all. The straighter the presentation, the rougher the sex--if it wasn’t a competition, how could you know who ended up the bitch? The lift rose, and the sudden swoop of upward movement sent disoriented shivers down Lucifer’s spine.

“Four fucking years. Four years of groundwork and you _fuck_ it up in a fit of--what, cowardice? Spite?”

Hate sex _did_ throw a spanner in the works, however. Lucifer might have to adjust his assumptions about Cain’s sexuality--anger was such a multifaceted emotion.

“Sorry, darling, not all of us are natural born killers.” The world blurred in that hormone-drunk way that human bodies had; the lift dinged open and Lucifer manhandled Cain back into the penthouse. They didn’t talk for a while after that. There were much better uses for mouths, after all, and it wasn’t until Lucifer felt a sharp pain in his lower back, and heard the discordant twang of piano wires protesting abuse, that he pulled himself out of the mire of mortal lust.

“Careful with the Steinway, I already had to replace the one downstairs!”

Cain replied with a flick of the tongue that sent molten heat pouring down Lucifer’s spine.

“On second thought--I’ve always wanted to get my hands on a Fazioli--”

“Shut _up_ ,” Cain snarled, ripping through the buttons on Lucifer’s shirt, and somehow they were past the piano and stumbling up the stairs to Lucifer’s bedroom.

“Make me,” Lucifer said with a smug smile.

Cain dropped him to the floor with a single, bruising hand over Lucifer’s shoulder, and not even the crack of his knees against polished marble could stem the torrent of lust that caught Lucifer broadside. His cock blurted in his trousers, and his hands were moving on Cain’s belt before his brain could catch up.

The thing was, he hadn’t _actually_ planned to shag Cain, son of Adam. Or suck his cock, as the case was proving to be. Honestly, he was as surprised by this turn of events as anyone else--but who was he to deny a supplicant to his magnetism? He inhaled Cain’s cock like a greedy child sucking down a popsicle in July.

Cain swore in a language Lucifer hadn’t heard in well over six thousand years.

Being good at sex wasn’t just having a lot of it--though that certainly didn’t hurt. It was all in listening to your partners and giving them what they wanted. Lucifer prided himself on giving others what they wanted. He ran his tongue along the veins on the underside of Cain’s cock, and felt the way his thighs trembled beneath his hands, so he did it again, and again, alternating with raw suction until Cain was making gritty, hurt sounds above him.

“Was this what you wanted?” he asked breathlessly, sliding off just enough to ask. “To come in my mouth?”

Cain was rendered speechless, his blue eyes washed black with need, so Lucifer said, “It’s one option, certainly, I’ll even swallow--or if you prefer, I could choke. Or I could fuck you, but something tells me you’d much rather fuck _me_.”

Sex with an inexaustible stream of strangers would have gotten boring very quickly if Lucifer didn’t enjoy something other than orgasms.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Cain said, which raised a slew of interesting questions, but Lucifer pushed them aside for the time being.

“Bottoming it is,” he said, giving Cain’s cock one last suck before getting to his feet and shrugging out of his open shirt. “Lube in the side table, if you don’t mind; dry fucking can wait for another, less angry day.”

It was satisfying, indeed, to know that he affected even this, the most infamous of men.

Cain finally jerked to motion, lunging toward the side table while Lucifer concerned himself with stripping off his shoes. The soft thump of the lube hitting Lucifer’s sheets drew his attention, and then Cain was peeling off his shirt. He was built thick and powerful, like a gladiator. Lucifer tossed his last shoe over the side of the bed and applied himself to that chest with a will. He prided himself also on his dexterity; he got his trousers off while simultaneously wringing another of those delicious noises from Cain’s lips.

“How are you so fucking _good_ at this--”

“Doctor Linda said that I sublimate my desire for emotional intimacy into sex,” Lucifer said around Cain’s nipple.

“Wh-who’s Doctor Linda?”

“My therapist.”

Cain’s laughter was breathless and a little unhinged. “The Devil has a therapist.”

Lucifer muscled him down to the bed, kneeling over him. “And he’s getting fucked by the first murderer, we all have our crosses to bear. As it were.”

At the word “murderer,” Cain’s eyes flashed, and he upended Lucifer, pressing him face-first into the sheets. Yes, it seemed that _was_ a tender subject. The snap of the lube bottle sent a bolt of anticipation tingling through his groin.

“Do come on already, eternity is passing before my eyes while you’re dawdling--”

“Do you _ever_ shut up?”

“Ask me nicely, darling, and I might--bloody fucking hell!”

Cain’s cock was built like the rest of him: thick and long, and Cain wasted no more time fucking into Lucifer than he did with introductory speeches. He drove the breath from Lucifer’s lungs, only for it to come rushing back to fill the vacuum left behind when he pulled out.

“Jesus Christ,” the Devil swore. He scrabbled for purchase, knocking pillows to the floor as he fumbled for the headboard. As embarrassing as it was to invoke his half-brother’s name during sex, Lucifer was finding it difficult to care: Cain had found Lucifer’s prostate in under five strokes. “Good to see you haven’t spent your wandering years in vain,” he managed.

Cain said nothing, instead fucking Lucifer with a rhythm that, had Lucifer not been in full control of his body’s responses, would have sent him over in short order. There was an edge to Cain’s anger, a bloodthirstiness, that piqued Lucifer’s curiosity.

“Why did you want me to kill him, by the way?” The question had been burning in the back of his mind, and perhaps this wasn’t the best moment to broach it, but seeing as how Lucifer himself was being thoroughly broached, turnabout seemed fair play.

“ _What_?”

“The Sinnerman, why did you want me to kill him? Cleaning up loose ends? Sharing the joy of bloodshed? Don’t misunderstand, I have a list of questions longer than your johnson, this is just the first--well, the second--”

Cain responded with a low growl and a savage bite to the meat of Lucifer’s shoulder.

Lucifer gasped, staring wide-eyed at the silk sheets beneath him, ripples of pain tincting the pleasure and sending his gaze hazy and blurred. His cock, already hanging heavy and abandoned between his thighs, jumped and drooled a thin string of precome. 

Turnabout was fair play, indeed.

Cain may have been an immortal, but he was no archangel. Lucifer exerted just a bit more strength, and Cain fell back, slipping out and leaving a regrettably empty void in his wake. 

“Perhaps that question can wait,” Lucifer purred, and if his Devil face hadn’t been stolen from him, he just _knew_ his eyes would have been flashing red. He repositioned Cain’s cock and lowered himself down, taking his victim by the very balls. “Tell me, Cain. What do you desire?”

“Go to Hell,” Cain gasped, pushing at Lucifer as though he could take on an angel. Lucifer pinned his hands by his head. 

“Been there, got the shirt, left unsatisfied,” he said. Of _course_ history’s first murderer would be complicated. “Come on, you wanker, I know you have desires, you’re no angel and certainly no miracle, and everything else yields to me eventually. What do you _want_?” It was sheer brute force, lacking any of the subtlety of his usual temptations, but Cain was, when it came down to it, only human. He shook so hard Lucifer thought for a minute he’d sat on a vibrator when he wasn’t paying attention.

“I want connection!” The words came out half in a wail, reminiscent of the countless millions of damned souls that had counterpointed Lucifer’s morning coffee. “Fuck you, I want to stop being alone!”

“Heavens,” Lucifer breathed, sitting back and freeing Cain’s hands. He felt that cry deep in his marrow, resonating in a way he wasn’t sure he cared for. “Is that all?” 

Cain turned his face to the side, his breath coming in near-sobs. “Fuck you,” he said. “ _Fuck_ you.”

“Yes, carry on, you’re doing it admirably,” Lucifer said, and his voice choked off when Cain’s hips snapped up viciously, taking out his rage on Lucifer’s arse.

They worked together a little longer before Lucifer took pity on Cain and let himself come. That was what Cain wanted, after all--he wanted to beat the Devil at his own game, and if he couldn’t force Lucifer to break the last divine law he held sacred, then he would force him to yield during sex.

Let him have the little victory. The game still went to Lucifer. He trembled through his orgasm, leaving a mark of his own against Cain’s chest, and Cain followed soon after, his stamina--though remarkable--no match for the sensation of Lucifer squeezing around his cock. They collapsed in a sweaty heap against the sheets.

“I’m impressed,” Lucifer said when he caught his breath. “Most people don’t acquit themselves that well the first round.”

“I live to please,” Cain said, half-slurring his words in the post-coital slump of the human male.

Lucifer laughed. “Now, we _both_ know that’s not true.” He rose to his elbow and ran a finger down the center of Cain’s chest. Punishment was calling him, and Cain had oceans of sins to pay.

***

LA almost approached peaceful, in the predawn hours. Traffic waned, the frenetic buzz of human-generated electromagnetism settled to its lowest tide, the club closed and its revelers departed to sleep off their altered states. Lucifer slipped through his penthouse like a shadow, a bottle of rubbing alcohol in hand. Cain slept in his bed--in the rank sweat of their enseamed bed, honestly, if Lucifer’s father was going to bless anyone, let it be Will Shakespeare--unaware and, if not trusting, then too exhausted to protest.

Lucifer hauled him over, soothing away the low sound he made, and bared the Mark to the moonlight streaming in through the window. Well, bared the military tattoo. No better way to enable a murderous habit than to infiltrate the U.S. Armed Forces, Lucifer supposed. He soaked a flannel with alcohol and smoothed it over the faded lines. It took a bit of work, but nothing could ever permanently cover what God wanted revealed, and sure enough, the temporary tattoo bled away, revealing the livid Mark engraved upon Cain’s skin.

“Oh, Sinnerman, where you gon’ run to?” Lucifer sang softly, and smiled. The Devil was waiting.

***

END

**Author's Note:**

> Cue Nina Simone's "[Sinnerman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QH3Fx41Jpl4)."
> 
> Hooboy, I know where _I_ want the show to take them :P


End file.
